The Daughter of Secrets and Swords
by oanya
Summary: This is Gillian Gallagher's untold story. Of how she found out a plot that would change her life, put her on the map, earn her respect. The plot that would lead her to falling in love, getting betrayed and saving America. The plot that would lead to Gilly's dreams turning into reality. This is what happened to Gilly, the daughter of secrets and swords- The first Gallagher Girl.
1. Happy Halloween

**SPOOF BEGINNING **

**(I just imagined this moment and I laughed when I thought about it, so think of it as a spoof beginning)**

"-And I'm buried up to my neck in paperwork." Zach finished wearily. Cammie kissed his cheek comfortingly.

"It'll be worth it, hon." She assured him.

"I know. It's just really tiring." Zach said, taking her hand. As they passed the portrait of Gillian Gallagher, Zach stopped to look up at her. "God, I bet she had it so easy."

Cammie shrugged. "Maybe. Come on, let's go." Cammie pulled him along to go meet up with Liz and Macey. As they left, the ghost of Gilly watched them and smiled a small smile.

'She had it so easy'. If only they knew...

**October 1864**

"Which is why I would like the extra 2000 dollars funding for equipment to use to train the girls at my school." I finished, raising my chin to show that I was sure of myself. I wasn't, really. I was nervous. The head of the Board chuckled.

"Miss Gallagher, while the Board... _appreciates _the case you are trying to make, I am sure I speak for all of us when I say- women are darn good at being wives, nurses, mothers, teachers, but they're not strong enough to be spies." Mr Whitaker took out an impressive gold pocketwatch and looked at the time. "And I do believe your five minutes is up."

My cheeks burned as I left the room. I didn't know what I was more upset about- the fact that I hadn't gotten the funding, or that Mr Whitaker had actually_ laughed_ in my face. I bit the inside of my cheek and kept focusing on items around the hallways - oil paintings. mahogany bookshelves, golden candelabras, rich carpets imported from Turkey- to distract myself from crying. _Strong women do not cry. Gallaghers do not cry_. I told myself sternly. I let myself out of the Board's house. My carriage was waiting outside for me, with my driver- Alistair- was feeding the horses a handful of oats.

"Miss Gallagher?" Alistair greeted me uncertainly when he saw me.

"Take us back home immediately, please, Alistair." I said stiffly. "But be careful."

"Yes, miss." My driver helped me up into the carriage and quickly jumped into the driver's seat. The sky was beginning to darken, and the streets were starting to light up with the lights from the few pumpkins or candles people had managed to find. Despite the war, the village council had decided to put together a small Halloween celebration. I had offered to let them use the Gallagher grounds for the celebration. As we drew closer to the school, I could see the front steps of the mansion had pumpkins on them, and there were candles in the windows. Already, some people from the village had set up stalls- apple bobbing, witch shooting, fortune telling and other things. Alistair helped me out of the carriage then went to take the horses to the barn. I forgot to remind him to take the horses to the stables round the back- I was thinking of converting the barn into a training room.

"Gillian." Helena Abel, the woman in charge of the village planning committee - which, to be honest, did nothing else other than order people to knit gloves and socks for soldiers in the hospital- came bounding up to me wearing a halloween mask with bright orange leaves on it. "I just wanted to thank you again for letting us use your house grounds for the-oh, no, I told Mary not to put the soup stall there! Excuse me."

"School. School...grounds." I corrected lamely, but Helena had already disappeared. "Nevermind then." I walked into the school to my room to get changed into a comfier dress. Men had it so easy, they didn't have to spend a whole ten minutes getting into a dress with a corset so tight I could barely breathe. The only thing the dress was good for was hiding weapons.

I finally put on a midnight-blue mask with silver crescent moons on it and went back outside. The first thing I saw was Miss Leslie Wallace trying to hold a seance with teary-eyed widows trying to contact the spirits of their husbands and brothers who died in the war. She was wearing a purple scrap of embroidered material over her head and yelling "I can feel the spirits! Oh, Charles, husband of Hattie Beckhouse! Contact me from the beyond, if you can hear me!" Unfortunately for Hattie Beckhouse Miss Wallace was 72 and a bit gone with the wind, especially after her only grandson died. He was only 19, the poor boy.

I wandered around a bit more, and stopped by a man leaning on a crutch, one leg cut off below the knee. "Miss Gilly Gallagher, I haven't seen you in three years! How are you, m'dear?"

"Mr Kent, is that you?" I barely recognised him. He used to run the apothacary shop in town, but enlisted for the war three years ago. I hadn't heard anything about him in so long I thought he died. "I'm fine, thank you. I've nearly got the school finished." I pointed proudly to the mansion.

"I can't belive little ten-year-old Gilly Gallagher is gon' become a big-time teacher. Just watch those damn Yankees don't come an' trash your fancy mansion." He furrowed his brow angrily. I supressed a sigh. The Union was fighting for the right cause and the Confederates were obviously losing. They were just too angry to see it. "Ah, never mind about that. How would you like to know the first initial of your true love's name?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "I don't know about true love, Mr Kent. I've got no time for that."

"It'll only take a second, I promise." Mr Kent took an apple out of his pocket. "Well, a second and an apple."

I smiled ruefully. "Well, if it'll only take a second. How does it work?"

Mr Kent pulled out a pocketknife and started peeling the rosy red skin of the apple into a long strip. "Little game the boys do when they're bored and want to brag about their sweethearts. You close your eyes, blow on the peel, and when I drop it into the water it'll twist an' curl into the first initial of your true love."

I smiled and closed my eyes, and blew on the apple peel. I opened my eyes to see the curl curling into the letter u.

"There we go. It's _u_. Or maybe it's _c_. This type a magic ain't always precise. I don't know which way it's s'posed to be pointin'"

"Miss Gallagher I do believe I'm the one you're looking for." A silky voice whispered in my ear. I spun around and behind me there was a tall man with dark curly hair and bright blue eyes.

"Nate? Nathaniel Carlyle?" I frowned. "It is you!"

Nate scooped me into a hug. I could feel the judgemental stares of all the old ladies who still thought girls and boys in such close proximity should be chaperoned burning into my back. "How are you? I hear you're becoming a teacher for spies."

"Excuse me?" I pulled back to look quizically at Nate. My lord, the last time I saw him was back in Ireland when I was 8, just before we'd moved to Virginia. His family had moved from Chicago- his parents wanted to change the scenery from a cold city to rolling green hills.

"Gilly, please, I know you're a spy. That innocent Irish girl disappeared a long time ago didn't she?" Nate smiled a little bit at me.

"Well, from now on, my school is for... exceptional young ladies. Don't give the game away." I warned him. "Mr Carlyle, could you accompany me around the grounds?"

"Yes, Miss Gallagher, it would me my pleasure." Nate offered me his arm. Things had changed so much in ten years. His american accent had a pleasant Irish lilt, his once-straight hair had gotten curlier- and he had gotten handsomer. "Woah, whose the dead man walking?"

I looked towards where he was staring. "Ah, that. Ioseph Cavan. He lives in this huge fancy mansion on the other side of town, not to mention he has a bunch of mansions in every other state. He's a bit creepy, but he's mostly harmless I think."

"You've changed so much. You don't sound Irish anymore. I barely recognised you." Nate looked at me sadly as we walked past the Young Ladies of the War Knitting Campaign (real Roseville group, I am not lying) doing a knitting competition to see who could knit six-foot long scarves the fastest, in return for a small sponshorship so they could then send said scarves to the men. They wouldn't ever gather enough money though.

"I barely recognised you too." I smiled ruefully.

"Gilly, I-" Nate started. But I didn't get to find out what he was going to say, because this happened next:

The barrel of water being used for apple bobbing exploded and water shot out everywhere. Then Mr Jonas (a fake name, I was sure), my informant, ran up towards me soaked in water and blood.

"Gillian! Quickly, you have to know. They're trying to kill me for it- but you have to stop them." He fell into my arms, soaking my dress.

"What is it?" I asked. A masked man wearing both Union and Confederate uniforms came running across the plain of grass with a musket. He shot at Mr Jonas, but missed but a few inches. The ground exploded five inches away from the hem of my dress.

Then Mr Jonas leaned in and whispered five words that would change my life- "They're planning to assassinate Lincoln."

All the women screamed, and the men shouted as more bullets flew around us. "You damn Yankees will never get me!" A drunk old man yelled, pulling a small handgun out of his pocket. Then one more shot rang, and Mr Jonas collapsed limply to the ground, his blood spraying on me. The women fled away from the gunman, and the men ran towards the gunman.

I screamed, and Nate pulled me away.

_Keep calm. Keep calm. Keep calm,_ I kept repeating to myself. The guests swarmed all around me, screaming and yelling. Alistair appeared from nowhere and snapped me out of my reverie.

"We've gotta go, Miss, it's all goin' to hell there." Alistair dragged me to the safety of my school. I picked up my skirts and ran away- angry at myself that I had forgotten to put a weapon in my skirts somewhere, so I could stay and help. Then I remembered- Nate. I looked wildly around for Nate but he was nowhere to be seen. Old man Cavan watched the chaos from the edge of the crowd of people, smoking on a cigar and scowling like he always did.

_Happy Halloween indeed. _


	2. Shaky Scribbles

"How bad is it?" I asked Lilith, chewing on the end of my fountain pen.

"None a your concern." Lilith answered. Translation- It was bad.

"It just doesn't make any sense!" I sighed in frustration, tapping my blue ink-stained fingers on the oak table.

I looked at my piece of paper once again. I had been working on it all morning. In the middle were the words "Lincoln killing?" in a circle, with lines coming out from it. Line 1- Enemies. Which was pretty much everybody in the South and even a few in the North. That wasn't helpful. Line 2 said "Confederate/Union"- The man who killed Mr Jonas had to have connection to both the Confederate and Union states, which could have provided me with some sort of clue...Unless the uniforms were stolen. And, to be honest, the whole war was a mess so everybody wore any clothes they could find. That bought me back to square one.

Then there was Line 3- what I found in Mr Jonas's pockets when I went to search his body after everybody had left. I had forced myself to look through his jacket and I found a .44 handgun. In his other pocket was a notebook with what seemed like nonsensical scribbled written on the first three pages in his shaky handwriting- _IC involved? $1779 gold, 62 slaves. Art Mahoney C-Family bribes. Deringer?_

That was all I could decipher. The rest was covered in blood and the water had faded the writing.

"Maybe you should ask that handsome gentleman friend a yours from outta town. A lot a gossip's runnin' around the South and he coulda heard some on his travels?" Lilith suggested- the handsome gentleman friend being Nathaniel.

"No, one person has already gotten killed over this. I can't involve Nate as well." I shook my head firmly.

"He saw what happened last night. He's already involved." Lilith reminded me. _Maybe_, I conceded. But back when we were children Nate used to look out for me, fiercely protective. If there was a time to return the favour, the time was now.

"How bad is it?" I asked Lilith again.

"Life goes on." Translation- It's bad and it's not going to get better for a while, so brace yourself. With a groan, I put my head down on the table and wrapped my arms over my head, blocking out the world.

When Lilith went into town this morning to fetch the keys for the safehouse from the locksmith, she told me nobody even dared to look at her. They were all afraid I was mixed up in some unlawful affairs, that I was hiding a deserter, that my school was really a satanic worship house and that Mr Jonas's death had been a Halloween ritual sacrifice- the rumours and lies got more ridiculous the further in town Lilith went. And because I was the talk of the town, the Board was no doubt already involved and-

"Excuse me, Miss, but a Mr Russell Hawking and a Mr David Locke are waiting for you at the door." Turner, my "accountant" slash Afrikaans language teacher slash metal weapons teacher appeared at the door to the dining room. Speak of the devil- Russell Hawking and David Locke were the supervising associates- they did all the grunt work that the fancier members of the Board couldn't be bothered to do. It seemed making house calls was part of the job description.

"I'll go speak to them, shall I?" I rose reluctantly from the table. Lili followed me without a word- I was grateful for that. When I got near the front foor I found Hawking and Locke had let themselves in, and they were studying the books in my hallway bookshelf- Sun Tzu's The Art of War, Spying in the 16th Century, Surroundings and Seasons- Blending Into Your Background, and about 74 more books. I had to share the books around the mansion; the library wasn't completely finished yet.

"Miss Gallagher." Mr Hawking greeted upon seeing me. "I expect you know who we are." It was more a statement than a question.

"And we expect you know what we're doing here?" Mr Locke continued, without giving me a chance to answer.

"Would you mind sharing the details of the events of last night." Again, a statement, and again, he didn't wait for me to respond.

But this a problem- do I tell them the truth or not? Do I get another dozen people involved, and possibly get them killed, or do I keep this to myself and solve the possible mission of somebody killing Mr Jonas and possibly killing Abraham Lincoln by myself?

Before I got the chance to make up my mind, Lilith started sobbing and cried out, "Miss Gillian was just protectin' me and my husband Alistair. Miss Gilly bought us from him, but he wanted to get us back because he was gonna give us to some factory owner who he owed money to, but I can't go in a factory to make ammunition or weapons, I'm gonna have a baby in a few months!"

Hawking and Locke looked flustered, and I fell into my role easily. "The man was a drunk, and he liked to gamble. He owes money to at least half of the population of America. And both Alistair and Lilith are employees at my school."

Mr Locke snorted. "You think your school is more important than the war?"

Now he had crossed the line. "You're damn right I think my school is more important than this godawful war. If it wasn't for schools, your precious soldiers and spies would be walking around like baboons thinking the alphabet went 'm, n, l' and the earth was flat, or you put your thumb inside your fist when you punch. Now, you've got your details, so I would very much appreciate it if you got off my property."

I turned around to walk away, but Mr Hawking grabbed my arm. I turned around and glared at him. "Despite what you may believe, sir, I am trained to be a spy. And I will not hesitate to break your arm and then press charges if you do not let go of me, and get yourselves off. My. Property."

Hawking scowled at me, but let go of my arm. I turned around to leave again, this time not looking back to see if they had left. If they knew what was good for them, they would have run out.

"Thank you, Lili." I looked straight ahead, detirmined more than ever to finish this mission.

"What are you going to do now?" Lilith asked me.

I snatched my piece of paper off the dining room table where I had left it. "I'm going to look for Art Mahoney, whoever or whatever that is."


	3. I Thought You Said You Were Dead

I lowered the brim of my hat to cover my eyes. My footsteps echoed through the empty halls of the Board's massive townhouse. I stepped up to the receptionist's desk and rubbed my hand over the itchy stubble I had stuck on.

"Which sublevel is the international worldwide directory on?" I asked.

"Sublevel four." She replied without hesitation- of course, why would she have a reason to suspect me? She thought I'd passed the Board's security and identification test- what she didn't realise was that I had drugged the guards and then snuck past the rest of the scarce security.

"Thank you, ma'am." I tipped my hat in thanks and walked towards the red carpeted stairway and down a thirty-two step stairway, thinking about the ways to access each sublevel- Each entrance was different so if you didn't know them, you couldn't get in.

Sublevel One's entrance was behind a portrait of the Chairman of the Board on the third floor near the bookshelf on proper gun cleaning and maintenance. Sublevel Two's entrance was in the shed behind the House. To get to Sublevel Three's entrance, you have to climb the curtains in the Weapons Through The Ages gallery room, push aside the sliding door in the ceiling, crawl through the tunnels left-left-right-forward-right-up-left, and then slide down an air vent two hundred feet- it was the most complicated because Sublevel Three contained the names of criminals and their aliases. I started walking down a massive curving staircase.

And Sublevel Four was... right here. I stopped on the fifth step, a wide corner one and with the toe of my boot I pushed in a golden rose that decorated the edge of the stairs. As soon as I pressed in the rose, the floor of the stair folded underneath me and I dropped down a vertical shaft into a dark room. I landed easily on my feet and waited, listening for subtle clicks in the walls, but heard none so I tentatively feeled my to the door into the Sublevel Four room. When I pushed the handle of the door, I heard a faint clicking behind me. Immediately I dropped to the ground and rolled into the Sublevel Four directory room, a half-second before twenty gunshots fired through the doorway where I was standing a moment ago.

I waited a few more seconds before moving into the Directory room. My eyes adjusted to the dim darkness quickly and I searched the shelves for M. Macallister, Macintyre, Macey, Maddock, Madely, Madgewick, Maguire, Mahoney.

I pulled out the book for Mahoney. It was only about at thick as my thumbnail, so I would be able to get through it in no time. But then, just as I opened the book to the first page, a cold hand closed around my neck.

Out of instinct, I stamped my left foot on the attacker's toes, while simultaneously burrowing my elbow into the attacker's abdomen. My attacks were blocked both times, and I was turned around to come face to face with ... Nathaniel Carlyle.

He flicked his eyebrows up at me and pulled off my 'stubble'. "I've got to say, Gilly, this is not your look."

"I was a second away fr-om killing you." I scowled angrily at him, my voice breaking and returning to its normal pitch as I pulled off the Voice Frequency Changer (VFC for short) off of my throat. It was a flexible little metal strip disguised with skin paint, that made the way the air particles in your throat vibrated, chaging the way your voice sounded. It did its job, but it made my throat hurt a lot.

"I realised that." Nate took off my hat and unclipped the pins in my hair. "I left after you- how did I get here before you?"

"I don't know. How did you even get in?" I asked.

"Oh, I asked the kind gentleman in the lobby for an access key to Sublevel Four, and he gave it to me. What did you do?" Nate looked at me, confused.

"I had to sneak in, obviously." I gestured to my jacket and trousers, annoyed about how easy it was for men to get whatever they wanted. "How did you know I would be here?" I asked, flicking through the A names.

"I found your note, obviously." Nathaniel smirked.

"I burned that." I said accusingly.

"I know. I have my ways." He smiled mysteriously. I wanted to ask him more questions, but there wasn't enough time. I was sure about one thing though- somehow, somewhere along the road, Nate had trained to be a spy.

"I'm sure you do. So, there are five Arturo Mahoneys, but one of them is dead. I'll take the two on Madeleine Green Avenue and Blacksmith Road, you take the two on Halliwell Garden Street and McKenzie Lane." I picked out the adresses. Art had to be short for Arturo. There were no other A Mahoney names that started with Art.

"Great. Let's go." Nate put my hat back onto my head. "Keep your head low, and no-one will notice you." He took my arm and led me out a concealed door at the back of the room. Inside the doorway, I stopped Nate and looked up at him. I needed to know this before I went.

"Nate, why are you here, really?" I asked, looking up at him. His blue eyes stared solemnly down at me.

"Like I said, I'm here to protect you." He said simply. His tone told me he wouldn't say anything more... yet.

A fourty-three minutes later, I was walking into a pawn shop on Madeleine Green Avenue, kicking up dust from the road with my boots. The Arturo Mahoney on Blacksmith Road had been a dead end- he was a ninety-three year old blind man who sold horse shoes and cooking pans, not a threat to national security. He had no living family left- his wife had died twelve years ago, his only son had died in the war and his grandchildren had moved to Canada.

142 Madeleine Green Avenue- I was at the adress of Arturo Mahoney II. I knocked tentatively on the door, and a young woman with mussed up blonde hair answered. She was wearing a black dress and blowing her nose into a yellowed handkerchief.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I'm looking for an Arturo Mahoney. I need to ask him some questions." I lowered the brim of my hat over my eyes- I had put the VFC back on, but my stubbleskin had been thrown away- it was really more of a unique-use material.

"He's not here. He's in the backyard. But leave him be, he's finally better- and he's not fit to join the war." She scowled at me, sniffing.

"It's not about enlisting for the war. I just need to ask him some questions is all." I assured her. She seemed to cave in, because her whole figure slumped and she whispered, "He's in the gardens. Don't be getting him upset now, y'hear?"

I thanked her and walked through the stifling hot house unacompanied. The back garden was full of yellowing grass and dead flowers, and a man wearing dirty white clothes was sitting on a chair painting a lush green lawn with a multitude of coloured flowers in it.

"Excuse me, sir. Can I ask you some questions?" I walked up towards the man. As soon as I got close enough, I could see he had two broken legs bandaged up badly. He took a long swig of some sort of alcohol with white powder in it.

"Doc say's I shouldn't mix medicine with alcohol, but who gives a damn anymore? It's all I got left. All the alcohol and paints and medicine I hid are nearly all gone. And I got to do what I got to do to stop the pains." He told me. It sounded recited, like he had said it so many times he was bored of hearing those four sentences.

"Are you Arturo Mahoney?" I asked.

"What's left of me anyway." Arturo Mahoney laughed a wheezy laugh that turned into a cough. My heart fell- this wasn't the Arturo I was looking for- possibly an arms dealer or an assassin, but not an old drunk man with broken legs who seemed to have lost his mind.

"Oh. I'm sorry, sir, I think I've got the wrong address." I said hesitantly, backing away.

"Oh, I know. Nobody wants to see me anymore. Even my daughter can't stand the sight of me." Arturo laughed. "But then again, I was never the popular Art Mahoney in this town. I'm not the rich blockade runner, I'm the crazy old drunk."

"Well, you don't have any competition left. Your blockade runner is dead." I said bitterly, remembering the Arturo Mahoney who was dead- a man who lived in the fanciest part of town. He owned a pawn shop but it had been closed while he spent his time blockade running.

"You must have been drinking too. He's not dead. He's alive and kicking. Hell took one look at him and spat him back out," Arturo then proceded to call the rich Arturo a series of extrememly rude names.

I sighed and walked back out of the house a bit moodily. Another dead end- and a lying dead end too. I saw the name. I saw the black ink cross next to the name. He was dead. He had to be.

Then I realised- Nate. He had gotten there before me. When I thought back to it, I vaguely remember his hands smelling strongly of ink. "I'm here to protect you." That's what he said.

I took off running so quickly my hat fell off into the road, and my dark hair streamed behind my back, giving me away. But I didn't care. Left- left- right- forward- right side of the street- Number 19 Lafayette Road. It was the address of the shop of the 'dead' Arturo Mahoney.

"NATE!" I screamed, looking through the window just as the glass shattered and Nate crashed through the broken windows, two bloody bullet wounds in his body.


	4. The Plot Thickens

Time slowed down.

"NATE!" I screamed, just as Nate crashed through the broken windows of Arturo Mahoney's shop. Two small bullet wounds were steadily turning his gray overcoat red.

My senses overloaded. I could smell the smoke from the gun, taste the blood in my mouth from where I had bitten down on my tongue, hear the way Nate's body slammed into the ground. _Nate no I need to help him no get Mahoney you need to but help Nate first Mahoney will get away can't handle this not Nate not Nate not Nate._

I groaned and burst into action, tearing off my overcoat and pressing it against Nate's side. He groaned in response which was a good thing, despite the fact that he was unconscious - it meant he was still alive.

I leapt to my feet and bounded over the broken glass shards that still remained in the window and took a sheathed knife out of my belt.

I held my breath and stepped tentatively over fallen furniture. The only sound in the room was the_ tick-tock-tick-tock_ of an old grandfather clock in the corner of the room.

Then I heard a rapid shuffling, and Arturo Mahoney jumped up from behind a cabinet, smashed the glass of the clock with his elbow. He then yanked out the pendulum swing- only then did I realise it was a thin, pointed sword.

I ducked and shoulder rolled behind cover just before the sword was thrown in my direction. It stuck firmly into the wooden boards that covered the lower half of the walls.

_Hurry up, Gilly. Nate doesn't have much time left_. Diagonally to my right, there was a display of glass mobiles and a smallish mirror without a frame. I looked into the warped reflections for signs of movement in the cabinet behind me. Nothing happened. I couldn't just wait there. Somebody would notice the broken window and Nate lying in a pool of blood outside.

I pushed myself up and jumped onto the glass counters. I spotted a figure in a dark jacket huddled on the opposite side of the L-shaped counters. I ran towards him in two bounds and jumped on his back, pushing him down to the floor. I threw my knife down into the floor- it nicked Arturo's ear, just as I had intended it to do. It was enough to scare him, not enough to make him rebel into not answering any questions.

With the tip of my boot, I pushed his shoulder up to turn him so he was facing me.

"Who are you working for?" I demanded, yanking my knife out of the floor to hold it up threateningly.

"P-please, I d-don't know anything!" He stuttered. My eyebrow shot up in confusion. This was the Arturo Mahoney who was somehow involved with assassinating Lincoln? This scared little man in his mid-forties?

"What is going on?" I groaned in frustration. Nothing was making sense!

"Please, I'm not supposed to tell you. He'll kill me!" The man said, scuttling away from me.

"Who are you talking about? Who are you?" This was getting out of my control, and I didn't like that.

"I was hired three weeks ago to pretend to be a man called Arturo Mahoney. I wasn't allowed to ask any questions, I was only allowed to go out when my employer told me to go out, to wherever he needed me to go to keep an eye on production or to get information for him. He told me what to say to people at meetings, and what deals to make. I had to pretend to be him; it was too dangerous for him to go out in public, especially with agents like you now looking for him." The apparently fake Arturo Mahoney told me quickly, wincing whenever I moved the knife.

"So Arturo Mahoney is not a real person?" I asked.

The man's face grew dark and somber. "If the devil was going to take a mortal for his apprentice, he would have chosen Arturo only to realise he had nothing left to teach him. He kills without mercy. He's skilled at fighting and using weapons. Does it look like I know how to shoot with a gun?"

Which meant that the real Arturo Mahoney was here, and he had shot Nate, but he had fled before I could get to him. I hadn't even noticed him leave the room and leave this pretender in his place. He was not an enemy to be underestimated. But then again, the fake Arturo said 'It was too dangerous for him to go out in public, especially with agents like you looking for him'. Did that mean the real Arturo regarded me as a threat? If so, that made matters worse for me- threats needed to be eliminated.

"Tell me- what is Arturo's job and who does he work for?" I demanded.

"He works for brother of a man he met fighting in the war. Arturo Mahoney is one of many names he uses. He is a ghost- he finds gun traders, assassins, he collects information and has a list of names at least seven feet long of people he's killed or he's planning on killing." The man was babbling on madly. Obviously Arturo Mahoney scared him a lot.

"Who does he work for?!" I yelled again, getting impatient.

"Somebody you know. A man called Ca-" A gunshot sounded, killing the fake Arturo and causing me to drop my knife. I whirled around to see somebody running away. I crouched for a second to pick up my knife before jumping over the broken shop window into the deserted street.

Stopping to pick up my knife had proved to have been a bad move- it gave the fake Arturo's killer (maybe the real Arturo Mahoney?) enough time to run away.

And I realised, to my dread, as I looked down on the ground, that Nate was missing, a few patches of dried blood on the ground remaining as the only signs that he was ever there.


End file.
